


Giant Killer Robots

by josephina_x



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Gen, One Year Later, Post-Series, Post-Weirdmageddon, See You Next Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 12:12:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17365709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josephina_x/pseuds/josephina_x
Summary: “You knucklehead, get down from thereright nowbefore Fiddleford finds out you took one of his killer robots out for a joyride!” Ford told his brother caustically, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was already trying to cook up a story that his old friendmightpotentially believe.A handful of gnomes might work, right?





	Giant Killer Robots

**Author's Note:**

> Fic: Giant Killer Robots  
> Fandom: Gravity Falls  
> Pairing: n/a  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Spoilers: through the end of the series, and some of the books (Journal #3)  
> Summary: “You knucklehead, get down from there _right now_ before Fiddleford finds out you took one of his killer robots out for a joyride!” Ford told his brother caustically, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was already trying to cook up a story that his old friend _might_ potentially believe. 
> 
> A handful of gnomes might work, right?  
> Disclaimer: Not mine, not for profit.  
> AN: A very, _very _, VERY belated Secret Santa gift to memelord from the WWTD Discord. (Mea culpa! Hopefully it’s something of what you wanted? ^_^;;; )__
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> _Prompts were “Stan and/or Fiddleford” and “happy boys!” (I hope this counts!)_  
>  _

\---

“ _What are you **doing?!**_ ” Ford said, as he stared at the utter destruction in front of him.

“Hey, Ford!” Stan called out to him cheerily, waving his arm at him from atop of the giant killer robot standing in the middle of (what little was left of) the courtyard. And if Ford didn't have to squint to see him up so high, through the glare off that panoramic viewing windshield, he wouldn’t have to _guess_ that Stanley was grinning up a storm, he'd simply _know_ it for absolute certain.

He’d know it for certain, of course, if the robot itself had a face that was able to emote. Sadly, it did not. Thus, the robot was only able to copy Stan’s motions (Ford assumed) by waving a giant metallic arm and hand back and forth wildly, nearly toppling the gargantuan humanoid robot in the process.

“Stanley, _get down_ from there _right now!_ ” Ford yelled back up to him.

“What?” Stan called back to him.

“ _GET DOWN FROM_ \-- oh, this is ridiculous,” Ford huffed out, dropping his cupped hands, because _of course_ Stan wouldn’t be able to hear him like this.

Instead of continuing to try to futilely yell up at his twin, Ford pulled out his phone and dialed a number, then held it up to his ear. (If Stan insisted he carry one with him at all times, then he might as well get some benefit out of having the blasted thing on him once in awhile.)

Ford knew the moment the phone in Stan’s pocket went off, because the robot he was in seemed to startle in place, and then went through the usual patting motions Stan did, before reaching up to grab and pull an imaginary object out of a breast pocket that did not exist on said giant killer robot (it being unclothed). The robot paused for a moment with the ‘object’ held at its chest, made some small motion with its hands, and then brought said mimed-yet-absent device up to the robot’s “ear.”

“Yeah?” Stan said in his usual rough tones through the cellular device in Ford’s hand.

“You knucklehead, get down from there _right now_ before Fiddleford finds out you took one of his killer robots out for a joyride!” Ford told his brother caustically, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was already trying to cook up a story that his old friend _might_ potentially believe.

A handful of gnomes might work, right? They didn’t usually form the ‘gargantuan’ version of themselves often without cause, and Jeff (the gnomes’ current leader) was usually the one at the head directing everything. A few of the others might conceivably try to ‘steal’ one of Fiddleford’s creations to get a chance at being able to be ‘in the driver’s seat’ for once, as it were, correct? --The niblings could back him up on that one. And Ford had no doubt that they’d lie to help cover for Stan also, as they had in the past -- not necessarily _happily_ , but they would do it.

“Uh, what?” was Stan’s response to this, and for a moment Ford had to wonder if his brother’s hearing aid was malfunctioning.

“I _said_ \--” Ford began, then was cut off by a loud SMASH and a CRASH and -- as he quickly whirled around to face the source of the noise -- was knocked off his feet at an earth-rattling THUMP.

Ford was barely able to resituate his glasses on his face and lever himself up on an elbow before the gigantic newcomer had risen from his crouch. --It. _Its_ crouch.

“Oh, no,” Ford groaned out, as he recognized another of Fiddleford’s giant killer robots, and Fiddleford himself at the open midsection of it, surrounded by a bevy of pistons and levers. Conceivably, if Ford had been able to manage to get Stan out of the giant robot before Fiddleford saw him in it, he might have been able to pull off the lie.

In the past, Fiddleford had been highly protective of all of his personal devices, not wanting someone who might misuse them to get their hands on any of them. (Ford knew this because of the extreme reaction Fiddleford had had to the thought of sharing a few of his ‘doohickeys’ with the Northwests, back in the day.) Sharing _plans_ for patentable ideas _now_ was one thing, because Fiddleford wouldn’t share anything with the masses (or the government) that he didn’t _want_ to share outright. It was one thing when Fiddleford had already explicitly shared something that he knew would be used by people who either knew what they were doing, or (he assumed) would be taught how to do so and would respect the intended use of the device. But actively _taking_ something from him?

For one frozen moment, Ford debated trying to convince Fiddleford that Stan was really ‘Shifty’ instead, and trying to forcibly infiltrate the robot, mug Stan, and smuggle his brother away during the resulting panic and chaos. But Ford couldn’t do that to his friend. He’d only just gotten done checking the bunker and the cryogenic tubes last week. The very idea of Shifty having gotten loose again -- let alone getting into one of his robots and impersonating someone he knew -- would scare his old friend far worse than anything Ford could think of. Having to deal with the fallout Stan having stolen one of his friend’s personal killer robots would be far less traumatizing for Fiddleford and less problematic overall, Stan would surely agree.

...And, well, if not, then Stan frankly deserved it for taking something that not only wasn’t his, but that belonged to someone that Ford had _thought_ that Stanley had begun to consider a friend.

Ford took a deep breath and rushed forward, to slide to a stop in front of the giant robot Stan was inside, between Stan’s stolen robot and Fiddleford’s _larger_ expertly piloted one. Ford threw his arms out to either side, ready to yell up at Fiddleford and defend his brother’s indefensible actions as he could, as Fiddleford struck a rather terrifying-looking pose. Ford felt himself pale as he watched Fiddleford, the sunlight glinting menacingly off of both his own glasses and the steely-eyed plasteel eyes of the giant killer robot he was piloting, command his own robot to thrust an even larger arm out at his brother in the pilfered robot, pointing accusingly at Stanley _directly_ as Fiddleford himself shouted out through the built-in loudspeaker system--

“-- _BEST TWO OUT OF THREE!_ ”

Ford stared.

Ford blinked and glanced sideways as he heard a “Heh!” \-- one of his brother’s usual gusty chuckling laughs -- emanate from the cellular device in his left hand, even from where Ford was holding it out at extension.

Ford pulled the cellular device -- still connected -- in closer to him, staring at it and slowly relaxing his pose in his puzzlement, as he heard his brother say _something_ to Fiddleford on the other side of it.

Fiddleford’s voice thundered out of his giant robot’s loudspeakers: “Stanley, hit that giant blue button on the console-there right next to ya, yeah? Stanferd can’t hear nothin’ from ya like this!” There was a pause. “...Oh, well, hear ya more _easy_ -like, then. --Yup, right there on the left!” Fiddleford added brightly, as Stan’s robot made a transition motion (clearly transferring the phone he was holding from left hand to right) before making a reaching-and-hitting motion with its left arm.

“--that do it?” Ford heard his brother say, out of whatever loudspeakers the robot Stan was piloting had installed.

“Yes!” Fiddleford’s voice rang out, as Ford turned to tilt his head back and look up towards his brother to say, “Yes,” himself directly into the microphone of the cellular device, after raising it to his mouth. (It was much easier to talk into that way. Honestly, he didn’t understand the obsession with the ubiquitously flat form-factor of the blasted things these days. A curved design made them _significantly_ easier to talk and to listen into as phones, which was supposedly still meant to be these devices’ primary function. ...Perhaps he should ask Fiddleford if he’d be willing to make an aesthetic upgrade of his own device for him later? His old friend still seemed to enjoy such small tinkering projects, which was why Ford kept bringing them to him when he thought of such things from time to time.)

“Uh, Ford?” he heard Stan say, and was jolted out of his own internal musings.

“Yes?” Ford answered his brother, staring up at him as well as he could from his position on the ground in front of him.

“What’re you doin’ there?” his brother said, sounding a bit puzzled.

“Ah,” Ford said, feeling himself color slightly, as he could almost feel the curiosity emanating from where Fiddleford was sitting ensconced in his own giant killer robot behind him, as both robots creakingly bent down towards him a bit, not quite bracketing him at each side. “I’m… refereeing?”

“Well, can ya’ do it over there?” Stan’s robot pointed an arm over towards the mansion’s front steps. “You’re kinda in the way.”

“Don’t want to accidentally almost step on ya’!” he heard Fiddleford call out just as brightly as before. “We’re really tearin’ the ground up!” And Fiddleford sounded quite… pleased about that?... from the bout of “Ehehehehe!”ing laughter he let out after voicing the idea of doing even more damage to the grounds and surrounding area.

“Yes. Yes, of course!” Ford said quickly, bowing himself out as gracefully as he could manage under the circumstances, as he jogged himself back over to the relative safety of the front steps.

“Gonna hang up now, yeah?” Ford heard his brother call out. “Need both hands for this.”

Ford heard the click, and let out a soft snort right before he hung up on his end as well. He couldn’t exactly act as a referee if neither Stan nor Fiddleford could hear him, and his brother well knew it.

...which meant his brother knew full-well why Ford had reacted the way that he had earlier, and was, in-turn, covering in a sense for _him_.

“All right!” Ford heard Stan say out of the loudspeakers, as the robot punched its fists into the air with a classic Stan-like exuberance. “Round Two, FIGHT!”

“And no goin’ easy on you this time, neither!” Ford heard Fiddleford’s voice proclaim out loudly, with no small glee.

“Wait, what?” he heard his brother say, then a “GAH!!” as Fiddleford’s robot started spinning in place, about and around the compartment that Fiddleford was currently sitting within. “--Oh, you’re askin’ for it now!”

Ford sat down to watch the impending giant robot battle and ruefully consoled himself with the fact that, well, it _was_ Fiddleford’s own home that they were performing said battling within. If his old friend truly wanted to rip up the place via a giant killer robot battle with his brother that the two of them were both _clearly_ enjoying, who was Ford to judge?

It wasn’t a half-minute later that Fiddleford rushed Stan, Stan managed to duck a ‘shoulder’ under him after a few boxing moves and not-so-fancy (rather hurried actually) footwork, and Fiddleford and his robot were tossed over the mansion walls in short order.

There was a long pause while it was airborne, then a lot of distant (and getting more distant) caterwauling as Fiddleford and his robot fell out of view…

...and then another almighty CRASH!!! as Fiddleford’s robot presumably finally hit the ground at the base of the mountaintop. Again.

Another few seconds later, Stan’s voice rang out of his own robot’s loudspeakers, saying, “Fiddlenerd says he’s okay!” A pause. “...Wants a best three out of five,” Stan added, with another chuckle. And shortly thereafter a distant but regular clatter started up again, which was slowly getting louder, and louder...

Ford put his chin in his hand and sighed.

\---

Ford found out later that the whole debacle had started due to a random comment Stan had made about not liking killer robots, due to how things had gone down with the Shacktron during Weirdmageddon. Fiddleford had sought to fix that -- Fiddleford being Fiddleford, he’d wanted to share his love of giant killer robots with his friend’s brother. Fiddleford had, while apparently thinking it was a control system problem, gone and tricked out one of his other killer robots to (a) use the same control schema that apparently he’d made for the Gleeful boy before, but hadn’t had the materials on hand to pull off for the Shacktron, and (b) include a great number of additional safety features that none of his robots usually had, up to and including parachutes and airbags, because that was the only way Stanley was ever going to even consider getting inside another one of those, let alone that high up.

But one thing in particular about the whole situation still eluded him...

“Stan, why did you have the loudspeakers off in the first place?” Ford asked of him. And his brother, done with his ‘best twenty out of thirty-nine’ matchups with Fiddleford, and having finally passed off control of the robot to Tate for further ‘fight like a hillbilly’ fun, to sit down next to him instead, simply shrugged his shoulders and said:

“You were asleep. Didn’t want to wake ya’ up.”

Ford sighed deeply. He supposed he now knew what _had_ woken him up, then. It was likely whatever crash Fiddleford’s robot had made when Stan had tossed him out of the ‘ring’ and over the side of the mountaintop upon which the mansion’s grounds resided, when it had finally hit the ground, at the base of the cliff-face, well-below.

“...I woke ya’ up, didn’t I?” Stan said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. They’d been visiting the day before, gotten in late in the afternoon, and after Ford had gotten talking about ‘nerd robot’ things with Fiddleford for hours (who knew how the time had flown), they’d ended up staying at the mansion overnight at Fiddleford’s insistence. They’d each taken a separate room -- a true luxury after all that time squashed together in the same small cabin on a shared small boat.

But that, like this, had been a largely pleasant experience. ...Well, once the initial shock had worn off.

“It’s fine,” Ford told Stan with a smile, as they watched Tate and Fiddleford rase the courtyard further in their back-and-forth robot rumble.

And with the way Stan was grinning back at him, really, it was.

“So,” Stan said almost conspiratorially to him, as Tate performed an odd flying-leap maneuver that Stan himself had in no way been able to pull off himself earlier, “You think I could get away with stealin’ one a’ those ‘bots away from Fiddlenerd, huh?”

It took Ford a moment.

“Stan, _no--_ ”

\---


End file.
